If Only For A Moment
by Dark Glass Marionette
Summary: Pre-movie. Upon returning from an expedition to the south, Tristan is reunited with an unexpected someone who will throw more than a little bit of light into the scout's life. / T for safety. Canon content, Tristan/Isolde.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Here it is: the multichapter Tristan-centric I announced on my previous fic, "Footwork". **  
**

So, like I said, this story centers on a canon aspect of the Arthurian myths, but not in a "canon" way since it's impossible to fit the story into the movie. I decided to tackle the romance between Tristan and Isolde; I thought it'd be a nice thing to write as more practice when writing Tristan. This fic also features non-movie knights such as Gaheris (Gawain's brother), Percival and Dinadan (Tristan's closest friend), and it takes place two years before the movie (making the date circa 465 AD). Not much else to add other than I will take a bit of liberty when writing Isolde's character; don't worry, I'll loyally stick to Tristan's.

Anyway, here it is. Enjoy the read!^^

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**If Only For A Moment  
**_A King Arthur fanfiction  
_

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I

Between dreams and reality

_Speed. Soaring the skies. _

_The wind, hard and icy, pushes him forward, teases him to continue. He's overcome his fatigue, and the only thing that's left is running, faster than the mightiest animal. He leaps into the air and he's flying, arms stretched wide, mimicking the hawk that flies overhead. The horizon seems easy to reach, the sky an endless ocean that called to him with vigor, making his heart swell with excitement. He's close, he's happy, he's _free-

_-until his feet touch the ground once more, harshly pulling him back to reality. Confusion takes over as he lands, and so he trips and rolls down the hillside. From under disheveled locks, he watches as the hawk disappears in the distance. Frustration strikes him, desperation putting him through denial. He'd been so close; the sky had almost been his. He'd felt it: he'd truly flown, no matter what his mind was saying against that simple fact. _

_It was of no importance. He clenches his teeth, gets to his feet and chases after the animal. _

"_Wait... come back! Come back!"_

_x-x  
_

Again, the same dream, the same feelings of delight, frustration, anger and determination, all mixed into one hard strike to his heart that left him breathless. He couldn't stop dreaming about his home and childhood, and it was starting to get to him. As much as he longed to return, he did not let his desires interfere; but it was at night that he could no longer control them, and so memories ran rampant through his mind, pulling him back into a world he had long ago left behind.

Tristan shifted his position atop the tree branch he was sitting on, then rubbed his eyes with a sigh. He looked down at his sleeping comrades, then up at the sky. It was clear and cloudless night and that, coupled with the strong wind that was blowing, did nothing but remind Tristan of his imaginary adventure. Curse his vivid imagination that had made everything feel as real as the world around him; well, Sarmatia had been and _was _real, contrary to what one might think after thirteen years of endless battle and an unfamiliar lifestyle. Some knights like Gawain were starting to forget -if he hadn't already- but others like Galahad and Tristan had their memories of home anchored to their minds, unwilling to let them go. That way, they could take solace in them whenever the world became bizarre and disturbing.

That was exactly what Tristan was doing now. It had been an odd and restless night, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep again, so Tristan relaxed and reminisced.

His moment of peace was short-lived, for a rustle of movement under him jolted Tristan back into full alertness. More movement, light grunts and shaking branches; Tristan eased back in his seat when he recognized the climbing figure as Dinadan who, halfway through, snickered and flashed Tristan a wide smile.

"Figured I'd find you here," he whispered, then pulled himself up onto Tristan's branch and sat in front of him. "What keeps you from sleeping? You've had an exhausting day today, and we've got a worse one up ahead tomorrow. You should get back down there and rest."

"I've tried, but just couldn't. Besides, somebody had to keep watch," said Tristan with a half-hearted shrug. He was in no mood for talking, so he kept his answers short and to the point, hoping Dinadan would soon catch the hint. His friend did sooner than later, much to the scout's surprise, and they both fell into a comfortable -but cold- silence. Tristan pulled his cloak tighter around him and brought his knees up to his chest.

"Tristan, what is it?" Dinadan suddenly asked, fixing his bright green eyes on the scout. "I know you're not gonna say a damn thing, but I just have to ask. Something's getting you down, and I'm actually worried. Whatever it is, you can't hide it for long; you should've known I would have noticed."

"I'm dreaming of home, Dinadan," Tristan said weakly after the pause, "and I don't like it. At the same time, I don't want to forget; what else would I have if I did? And it's been the same dream for days now."

"Forgetting's the last thing you want to do, aye. Take the dreams as proof that you still remember."

"They do nothing but remind me of what I've lost; they only cause me unnecessary pain."

"That goes without saying," said Dinadan with a shrug. "I've also dreamed from time to time, Tris, and it's never pleasant. You just have to accept it."

Tristan frowned in frustration. "But it feels so-"

"-unfamiliar? You've never felt that sort of pain before?"

At Dinadan's knowing smile, Tristan blushed and looked away; he was thankful it was dark enough for the redness of his cheeks to go unnoticed. Dinadan snickered again, this time clapping a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from laughing out loud. Tristan kicked Dinadan's leg, making his friend wince and raise his hands in defense. Tristan had to admit, though, that Dinadan was right. He was familiar with all kinds of pain, especially that of loss, but not the one associated with nostalgia and longing. For him, missing home had become something natural, something he had accepted and was now living with, but it had never hurt as much as it did when he was dreaming.

Tristan sighed in defeat. "You're making me feel like a kid, but you're right."

"Everybody's a kid every once in a while, Tristan; it just doesn't happen to you as often as it does to others," Dinadan offered, the kindness in his voice palliating Tristan's unease. "You might be fifty years old or twenty-four -as is your case-, but there's always something to learn. You just discovered the pain of longing; unfortunately, the hard way."

"That's how things are; no way around it. It's always the hard way."

"You're just sulking."

"I'm not. Why don't you go back to sleep and leave me alone?"

Dinadan shook his head. Though annoyed, Tristan had to admit that his short talk with Dinadan had left him more at ease. That damn knight, always hitting the right spot. That was how well Dinadan knew him; he would always say the right thing.

"How long have you been up here?" Dinadan asked out of the blue.

"A while."

"Well, I've been here for mere moments and my butt is already sore."

Tristan bit back a laugh, but he nevertheless smiled widely. "What says we get down?"

"You don't have to ask."

Dinadan reached for the first branch and started climbing down with a grimace and an audible 'ow'. Tristan, still smiling, followed suit. Both knights headed to their respective sleeping places but no sooner Tristan had laid down, Dinadan was next to him. He laid on his stomach, his eyes on Tristan, who lifted a curious eyebrow.

"Just in case I have to hug you after another one of those bad dreams of yours."

Tristan smacked Dinadan on the back of his head with a scowl. With Dinadan around, though, he could stay mad at him for so long, so Tristan eventually smiled and, with one last look at the sky, he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

x-x

The next morning, everybody was up at dawn. It was their intention to return to the Wall by midday, so they decided it best to pack and set out immediately; along the way, each knight would take care of his own stomach, though that earned them Gawain's light-hearted complaints. This time, Percival was riding up front, so Tristan could ease back and ride along the rest of the knights. Save for Dinadan, the others were surprised to see Tristan join them, and even joked with being 'honored with his presence'.

"Ah, go easy on 'im," said Gaheris, riding up to his brother Gawain. "The scouting's got to get lonely. Every man needs a bit of company from time to time." He smiled widely. "Even you, Tristan, I'm sure."

"The company has got to be good; otherwise, it's not worth having it," Tristan replied. His words had the desired effect on his companions; most of them, having got the hint, were staring at him slack-jawed. "Now, now, get yourselves together. I didn't say anything out of the ordinary."

"Somethin's gotten to ya," Bors said from behind. "Here I am, 'earing everythin', and you're just makin' jokes. Is Dinadan finally rubbing off on you or what?"

Dinadan threw his head back with a bark of laughter. "Gods forbid he takes after my sense of humor, or else _you'_d be the loners and not him!" he exclaimed after sobering a little. Tristan looked down at his horse's reins in an attempt to hide a smile. There he was: Dinadan, getting Tristan out of situations he knew would be uncomfortable for the scout. Tristan couldn't thank his friend enough.

"Hey, ain't that your bird, Tristan?"

The knights looked up and indeed, the animal was circling them overhead. Tristan whistled and the hawk immediately swooped down to perch itself on Tristan's shoulder, where it proceeded to pick at its wings. "Aren't you the vain bird, eh?" Tristan teased, poking the hawk's beak to distract it. The animal countered with a fierce peck at the scout's finger. "Easy, girl." Tristan looked at his finger and shook his hand. "Damn, any fiercer and you'd be worse than Gaheris on a bad day."

"Beg your pardon, Braids?" Gaheris intervened, leaning forward on his horse to shoot Tristan a murderous glare. The scout shrugged, ignoring said glare. "You're gonna get it once we get back to the Wall," he threatened, aggressiveness seeping into his tone.

"I rest my case."

Gaheris shared a look with Gawain, then both brothers laughed. "Aye, I suppose you can, Tris," said Gaheris, smiling widely. "Anyway, let's just focus on riding and getting back home. We've got things to do back there."

"Like celebrating the success of this mission?" offered Galahad from next to Bors.

"Somethin' like that, yeah," agreed Gawain.

Things to do... Tristan's list was quite short, and among his duties would be sleeping. His mind momentarily drifted back to last night's dream. Tristan looked away from his companions, unease blooming within him once more. As if reading his thoughts, his hawk nuzzled its head against Tristan's cheek, offering the comfort he could only get from an animal like her. "It's okay."

Tristan was then called forward by Lancelot, who was riding up ahead next to Arthur and Percival. It was the latter who spoke in a slightly hushed tone.

"I'm getting a bad feeling we're being watched."

It wouldn't be surprising, though Percival was known for being a bit paranoid when it came to riding through the forest. The Woads were everywhere; the forest was their home, so only somebody who had lived in the forest -like Tristan, which was why he was the most trusted knight for scouting- could spot them before anything bad happened. Arthur and Lancelot were on high alert. Tristan noticed his hawk was growing restless; she, too, was sensing something.

"Now it's not just you, apparently," Lancelot said, casting a look around himself. Tristan signaled to Arthur to keep on riding, then strained his ears to pick up any sound that might give away their trackers' position. _Aye... Trackers, five or six at the very least. Hunters with bows and arrows. We're prey once more._

The hawk took flight all of a sudden and before Tristan could stop her, she disappeared into the trees. Almost immediately, a loud painful yell echoed through the forest. That was their cue.

"Ride! Hurry!" Tristan commanded Arthur, who was off in the blink of an eye, followed swiftly by the rest of the knights.

The scout went along last, just in time to avoid an arrow that whizzed past him. The Woads were now coming after him, at least those who hadn't had their eyes poked by the fierce bird. Tristan noticed said Woads running alongside; he quickly whipped out his bow, took aim and released his first arrow. He took out his remaining enemies, then searched the skies for his hawk, which he soon saw flying some distance ahead of him. Tristan kicked his horse and the animal ran even faster, taking him away from danger at an impressing speed. He heard a familiar yell -Bors'- coming from the distance, and Tristan soon caught up with the knights, who were engaging several more Woads by the limits of the forest.

"We're getting all the fun now!" exclaimed Lancelot as he dodged the attack of an enemy. Tristan swiftly scanned the area for the Woad that seemed to be, in all probabilities, the head of the group. Having located him running towards Dinadan -who clearly would not expect the Woad-, Tristan spurred his horse, then drew his sword and dismounted simultaneously. He caught the ambush leader completely by surprise; Tristan was on the Woad in an instant, his sword piercing his enemy from side to side. Dinadan pivoted, eyes wide in shock, then nodded at Tristan.

"Damn Woads!"

The skirmish was over before any knight noticed it. The Woads withdrew into the forest, using the shrubbery as cover, but the knights remained alert, listening for any other movement. Once they were sure, Percival spoke up.

"There was something weird about them," he said between pants. "I'm not sure... but it seemed as if they were returning from somewhere. Some were already wounded, most of them bloodied, and they're not the usual number Merlin sends after us." He looked worriedly at Arthur. "They've been somewhere."

Tristan didn't need to hear anything else: he swiftly got on his horse and without waiting for orders, rode ahead of his companions. His hawk joined him soon afterwards, and so did Arthur and the rest. Tristan saw a column of smoke raising up into the air some distance away; so that's where the Woads had come from. The scout yanked at his horse's reins and stopped. He looked at Arthur.

"I'm guessing it's been an attack on a village up ahead and most likely, those who have escaped are already on their way to the Wall," Tristan told their commander. "Ride north and get there, see if you can intercept them. I'll go and see if there's anybody left."

"We'll go with you," Gawain said, gesturing at himself and Dagonet. Tristan nodded, satisfied.

"We'll see you at the Wall."

With that, Arthur took the rest of the knights up the road towards Hadrian's Wall; Tristan and his companions headed south. Upon arriving, Tristan had suspicions thrown out the window: there was nobody there... and they few that were had suffered death at the hands of the Woads. The source of the fire was a house in the middle of the small village. Dagonet dismounted first and knelt by the nearest bloodless body; even so, he shook his head with grief. They were _all _dead.

"Gods, what a mess," Gawain said in an undertone loud enough for Tristan to hear. "Savages, the lot of them."

"Did you expect anything less?" Tristan bit back, cold. He searched some of the houses that were yet standing, but still found no sign of life. Dagonet was luckier: he'd found a boy and a girl, the two of them unharmed and safe. They were scared out of their skin, but Dagonet managed to put them at ease enough for the children to trust them. Gawain glanced at Tristan with a smirk; the scout, while impassive, had to agree with his fellow knight: Dagonet was _the_ gentle soul. Once they were sure nobody else remained, the knights set out to join Arthur.

As Tristan had expected, Arthur and the others had intercepted the fleeing villagers; what came as a surprise was the supply wagon they were escorting. Tristan left Dagonet and Gawain to their devices and rode up to Dinadan, who welcomed him with a relieved smile.

"What's this about?" asked Tristan.

"The Woads attacked this supply wagon as it was leaving the village, but they managed to escape," Lancelot -who was riding in front of them-, answered in Dinadan's stead. "Did you find anything in the village?"

Tristan shook his head. "Save for two kids Dagonet found, there was nobody else alive."

"Damn," cursed Dinadan. "Bastards... Why don't they massacre themselves for a change? I'm no supporter of Rome, but they could at least leave the villagers alone."

"But they won't," said Lancelot. "From a strategic point of view, it's the villagers whom the Woads are more interested in. They supply the Roman soldiers that then run raids against them."

"Doesn't it get to you that this village in particular was completely unprotected, though?" asked Dagonet, who came up next to Tristan. "I saw no Roman soldiers lying around."

Tristan nodded. "I noticed, too. But the Romans only protect what interests them."

"Are you suggesting they just left the village out?"

"When he puts it like that, he's right," said Dinadan with a frown. "If they were of no use to Rome anymore, then why spend soldiers -and the most important thing, money- on protecting them?" He shuddered with a grimace. "Can't help but get the chills when I think about it. It reminds me of the code of conduct of our tribe, something I never particularly agreed with."

The knights then rode in silence. The Wall appeared in the distance soon enough, a sight which lifted their spirits: after four days away, they were finally back. After passing the first gate, Arthur was thanked by the convoy leader and told they could handle themselves from that point onwards, so the knights headed for the second gate and the square that connected the rest of the fort. Upon arriving, Bors greeted Vanora; and Dinadan, much to Tristan's own surprise, the girl he had been told about during their four-day expedition to the south.

Tristan got off his horse and patted his muzzle in approval. "Jols will take you to the stables. You've earned your rest." The animal neighed as if saying thanks, and that's how Tristan took it. He started toward the door, then stopped dead in his tracks as a flicker of white to his left caught his attention.

And he saw her.

It was only for a moment, but Tristan would recognize that face everywhere. His heart sped up and his eyes widened, something Dinadan noticed and brought to the scout's attention. He wasn't listening, instead watching as the woman got lost within the crowd. Either it was a dream or-

"Hello?"

Dinadan's loud voice was enough to snap Tristan out of his daze. He darted after the woman, following the hem of her white dress as she strode up the street towards the supply warehouses. Tristan felt his stomach knot in nervousness, even more when he finally called out her name.

"Isolde?"

She whipped around, her distressed expression morphing into one of shock when she laid eyes on him. Tristan was more disconcerted than relieved when he finally ascertained that yes, the person standing before him was Isolde. _Isolde_. She seemed to have reached the same conclusion as him, only inverted. Her dark eyes bore into his, and two tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

"Tristan?"

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_A/N: So there it is, the first chapter. Tell me what you think of it: pros, cons, anything; that's what reviews are for. I'd like to think things are gonna get a bit funnier -especially if the knights find out about Tristan and Isolde, but we'll get to that in time.  
_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Another chapter into the fic. I don't know how long it'll turn out to be; I have my ideas, but it's unclear how much they'll take. And you guys have no idea how many times I've rewritten and re-checked this chapter, so enjoy!^^

**Disclaimer (forgot to add): The usual applies. I don't know King Arthur.**

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**If Only For A Moment  
**_A King Arthur fanfiction_

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II

The past came back

"Tristan? Oh, gods, Tristan!"

Without hesitation, Isolde ran up to him and flung her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. A huge wave of emotions and sensations struck Tristan out of his reverie, who in turn swept her up into a strong embrace. Moments ago he had been tired and in need of being alone; with her presence, Isolde had revitalized him. Isolde buried her face in his shoulder, which gave Tristan the chance to take in her scent; her dark hair still smelled faintly of lilac with surprising traces of pine tree. A special smell belonging to a _very_ special person.

"I can't believe you're here..." Tristan said in almost a whisper as he put her down on her feet again. He was almost out of breath, his heart racing faster than a wild stallion. He was overjoyed and... ecstatic; aye, that was the word. Tristan smiled, deciding it was the best way to put his euphoria behind and allow words to come out. "You have got a lot of explaining to do."

Isolde had the widest of smiles on her face. "I believe so. I'm on my way to the healing wards; there's something I need to check. Come with me."

Tristan fell behind Isolde, who took a right and made a bee-line for the second building to the left side of the street. Once there, Isolde seemed to forget about him, for she quickly begun searching for something -or someone. With a joyous cry, she strode to the other end of the building. Dagonet was there, tending to the children he had found at the burnt village. No sooner Isolde was beside the girl, she sat up and wrapped her arms around Isolde, clinging to her as though she were with her mother. The boy, on the other hand, was sleeping, his face contorted in pain.

"How does he fare?" Isolde inquired, looking concernedly at the boy.

"He suffers from a light fever, but he'll be fine soon," Dagonet replied, nodding at Isolde, who enthusiastically glanced up at Tristan. He then noticed Dagonet's inquisitive gaze and held it with a warning one of his own. Tristan was getting his point across, that much was clear. "Something tells me you don't want the others to know of what you're doing... or who you're with, rather?" asked Dagonet with a smile.

Tristan sent an even fiercer look in Dagonet's direction. Dagonet let out a laugh. "I don't want to face off against your dagger, so I'll humor your request," he teased.

Tristan cocked an eyebrow. "It wasn't a request."

"I may be a healer, Tristan, but that doesn't mean I don't have plenty of deadly weapons at my disposal," Dagonet warned calmly.

Tristan was well aware Dagonet was not kidding in the least. _That which heals can also kill when wrongly administered. He wouldn't do it... would he? _The scout caught glimpse of Dagonet's smirk, which immediately shot down any suspicions Tristan had.

"I'd better leave these children to rest," Isolde suddenly said, interrupting their banter. She kindly stroked the girl's hair, then addressed Dagonet. "I'll be back soon. Thank you for looking after them." Dagonet nodded his head in response. Isolde made another bee-line for the street and Tristan, after lingering for an instant, followed suit. Outside, under the midday sun, Tristan saw the weary look on Isolde's features, as well as the rips and smears of dirt on her dress. Damn Woads...

She was suddenly inches away from him, flicking some stray locks out of his eyes. Tristan remained in his place, unflinching, though he had to admit the situation was getting awkward for him, and there was nothing Tristan hated more than awkwardness together with a woman.

"Tristan, is something the matter? You seem a bit stiffer than usual."

It was complicated to explain. Tristan was by no means delicate, not when bluntness was the best option, but there were things he couldn't tell Isolde yet. She was clearly behaving as though Tristan were still the man she had first met; how to tell her otherwise? Ignorance is bliss, after all, or so the saying went.

"It's nothing important," Tristan said at last.

Isolde frowned, suspicious. "Are you sure?"

"Completely."

"I don't think so."

As stubborn as usual, and Tristan didn't appreciate her prodding. "I need to report back to Arthur. I'll tell you something you can do: go to the tavern and ask for Vanora; tell her -only her- I sent you. I'll leave the rest to you."

"Nothing else?" Isolde was clearly unsatisfied with his succinct instructions.

Tristan smirked, rested his hands on her shoulders. "You're a woman of words," he said. "You'll make it."

"When do you think we'll be able to meet again? There are still things we need to discuss." Her eyes did not hide her expectation; Tristan, on the other hand, kept his at bay: if any of his comrades picked up on any change in his behavior, there would be trouble and nosing about.

"I don't know. Meet me at the forum at dusk; we'll decide there, agreed?"

Isolde nodded, then both took off simultaneously. Tristan dared a look over his shoulder but, as though she had vanished into thin air, Isolde was nowhere to be seen. He nevertheless lingered, as if hoping Isolde would come into sight and say she hadn't left him. Tristan shook his head strode away.

His experiences with Isolde two years ago had left him a different man, one that had no choice but to withdraw upon his return to Britain, to conflict, to the spilling of blood and claiming of lives. While thinking of Isolde had kept Tristan strong and positive all these years, it had also proved to be a distraction that had almost cost the scout his life. The lesson was burned into his mind: in a battlefield, there was no place for happy memories, because the enemy would use them against you. Tristan had acted more careful and cold when fighting, discarding every thought that was not related to the enemy and his imminent death at his hands; bloodshed had become his guarantee that nothing else -no emotion or impulse- would bother him in battle.

How to welcome back Isolde without destroy that he had worked so much to build? But Tristan had befriended Dinadan to the point of considering him a brother, and that had not required the barriers to be torn down. If Tristan had managed with Dinadan, he would do so with Isolde.

Once inside the main building, he was forced to leave emotional matters aside. He met with Dinadan at the door to the Round Table, then stepped inside alongside him. Arthur and the other knights seemed to have just arrived, so Tristan's tardiness would go unnoticed to all of them.

"What took you?" asked Gaheris.

Or not.

"Not that we've been early ourselves, but Dinadan was waiting for you," Gawain offered from beside Galahad. "We were thinking you wouldn't show." Tristan shrugged while focusing on calming down; a difficult task when so many pairs of eyes were on him.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Tristan said while approaching his seat. "What I've been doing doesn't matter."

"What does matter is what you _had_ been doing while we were escorting the convoy," Arthur intervened in his usual soft but authoritative tone as he motioned for the knights to sit down. "What did you find back at the village, Tristan, aside from the children that are already receiving attention?"

The scout shared a look with Gawain, on whose face saw anguish. "We only found the bodies of those who hadn't been able to escape. A house caught fire, most likely by accident, hence the smoke we saw. There was nothing else, Arthur, though Dagonet did pick up on something odd."

Tristan now glanced sideways at Dagonet, who spoke gravely, "There were no Romans there, not even the tracks of their horses, which we would have seen if they had been there to defend the village."

Percival had a sudden look of shock on his face, as though he'd been slapped and hard. "The _villagers _stood up to the Woads on their own! That's why the trackers had injuries on them!" The young knight eased back on his seat. His brow creased in worry. "There's something I don't understand: why would the Romans leave _their _people unprotected?"

"Because the Romans only protect what interests them," replied Lancelot. "Isn't that how you put it, Tristan?"

The scout coolly held Lancelot's gaze. The tension went up a notch as it tended to happen whenever Lancelot got on Tristan's nerves, which was usually most of the time. Tristan had his share of respect for Lancelot, for he was both a good fighter and an honest person when need be; save for that, Tristan didn't see eye to eye with him.

"It wasn't just him, Arthur," Dinadan said upon noticing the knights' restlessness. "I agreed with what he said. The village was practically indefensible, and I'm sure Rome would not waste time and forces on things out of their reach."

"Let's not forget about the money. But they were still supplying the Wall, though," Gaheris pointed out, frowning at Lancelot, "and the convoy we escorted was stock full. Why lose interest in that?"

"Roman politics don't concern us; after all, we're just knights," Galahad intervened, bitter, "and I'd rather avoid getting bitten in the arse like the time we suggested a group of soldiers be posted on the south face of the Wall rather than the north one."

"You still have the scars?" joked Bors. Galahad couldn't keep his face straight for long; he also smiled.

Tristan didn't listen to the friendly banter; there was something else that was bothering him.

It wasn't the Woads' style to directly attack Roman villages: unless they had a good reason to do so, they always stuck to ambushes or head-on attacks _near_ the edge of the forest so they had somewhere to retreat in case things went wrong. So why now? Why that village in particular? He remembered that every house he had searched had been upside-down, as if the Woads had been frantically searching for something... but what?

The whole matter had him intrigued and worried, so he made an offer he'd most likely regret afterwards. "I can head out south and be back before dusk, maybe get more clues about the attack."

Arthur considered Tristan's offer. "You have your suspicions, don't you?" he inquired, leaning forward on the table. Tristan nodded without a word.

"What suspicions would you have, Tristan?" asked Gaheris. "The Woads hate the Romans; there have no reason other than that to justify their attacks against them."

"I have to agree," said Percival. "These sort of attacks are the usual from the Woads; I don't see why we should suspect this one over any other in the past. Let's not jump to conclusions."

Tristan silently agreed with Percival; he'd made a very good point, though doubts wouldn't disappear overnight.

"Blame his over-alertness on his lack of sleep," remarked Dinadan with a smirk towards the scout.

"Then on what do we blame Percival's, eh?" teased Lancelot. Laughter filled the room while Percival engaged Lancelot in a furious game of stare-down. Percival could pull off the killer look whenever he wanted despite being one of the youngest knights, the other being Galahad, who was patting Percival on the shoulder with that wide and enthusiastic smile of his. Once the knights sobered, Arthur spoke up.

"If there is nothing else you have to tell me, then you are dismissed for the rest of the day. Get some rest; you've earned it."

"Let's hope we're not interrupted; those four days out left me battered," said Gaheris as the knights rose. Bors guffawed.

"Yeah, you and your delicate physique," he mocked, earning himself a menacing gaze from Gaheris. "Don't understand how you ever got 'ere."

"And you had to be related to Gawain!" perked up Lancelot with a devilish grin.

Tristan actually smiled at that one, the rest of the knights bursting into laughter again -Lancelot's the most audible of them all. Gaheris wasn't as bulky or muscular as knights like Dagonet or Bors, and he was known for falling ill at the unlikeliest times of the year; his 'delicate physique' -as Bors had so elegantly put it-, paired with his blood relation to Gawain -who was known for caring for his hair more often that not-, made Gaheris the perfect target for any jester's mockery.

"Tristan didn't get it-"

"-thankfully-," muttered Tristan under his breath.

"-but you sure are!" Gaheris reached for Lancelot's collar; the young knight, having seen his friend's reaction coming, sidestepped then dashed toward the door; Gaheris chased after him. The others were making to leave, but Arthur raised his hands to stop them. The smile on his face told the knights of his intentions.

Silence. Then-

"Not the head, not the head!" Lancelot was shouting. "OWW!"

"Get him, Gaheris!" Gawain cheered, laughing.

"I actually pity Lancelot," Dagonet said, good-humored, while risking a peek outside. "Gaheris' smacks on the head leave you with a nasty burning sensation for the entire day."

"And they're more painful than a horse's hoof on your behind," said Galahad with a wince. "Anyway, who says we leave the two to their own devices and just enjoy the rest of our day?"

"I'm with you," said Gawain, putting an arm around Galahad's shoulders. The two men were smiling widely. "We'll get wind of the results once we meet tonight at the tavern."

"I'll go check on them," offered Arthur, making his way to where most knights stood. "You lot are wasting time; get going or I assure you you'll be making a better use of it."

The men looked at each other. Gawain and Galahad were the first ones to scatter; the others took different directions, not any slower than the two young men who had just left. Tristan went straight to his room, where he left his equipment and donned fresh clothes. Once 'neat and clean' -as Tristan liked to say-, he took a shortcut to Vanora's tavern to check up on Isolde, _if _she was even there. Vanora greeted the scout with a smile when he arrived.

"You know I'm not one for gossip, Tristan, but you have to tell me where Isolde's come from," she said before Tristan could speak. "Forget it, I already know."

Tristan had to try his hardest to appear composed; inwardly, he was floored. His heart had sunk to his boots at the news he had received. He sighed in defeat, unable to meet Vanora's gaze. "...women." He knew his snide comment wouldn't bother Vanora, but he just had to say it.

"_She_ told me herself, Tristan; I didn't pry out any details," Vanora said kindly. "Besides, I'm not surprised in the least."

This came as a surprise to the scout. Vanora shook her head and headed inside to the bar, where she busied herself with the reorganizing of glasses and dishes. "I know you, Tristan; not as much as I would like, but at least a bit. From what Bors tells me, I've pictured you as a standoffish man-"

"He's not far from the truth," admitted Tristan, flat.

"Tristan!" Vanora rebuked. She then sighed in the exasperation. "Look, what I'm trying to say is that I'm happy for you."

_Right to the point- wait, what?_

Tristan perked up his head, struck speechless by Vanora's words, which she had spoken with the utmost sincerity. Vanora smiled again. "I knew that'd get to you. I'm being honest with you, though. They don't know yet, do they?"

"If by 'they' you're referring to Arthur and the others, then no... except for Dagonet," Tristan replied. Vanora nodded.

"Then if they _ever," _She raised a finger for emphasis, "get to know, you will have shown them that even people like you can find somebody to spend their life with. And forgive me if I'm speaking with assumptions, but this very same thing happened to me when I was young; inverted, of course." She winked an eye at Tristan. "I just sent Isolde to the apple orchards on the north side, if your intention was to ask for her. Have a good day, Tristan; I'll see you tonight."

_If I'm even here. Vanora can keep a secret... but it's not a secret anymore if _two _people other than me know._

Tristan bid his farewells and went to meet Isolde, whom he had in his sights mere seconds after leaving the fort. As Tristan approached her, he took notice of the plain green dress she was wearing and how it rippled in the breeze, just like her long hair. She was resting a basket on her hip and diligently checking the trees for ripe fruit. Tristan stayed behind for a short while before walking up to her: hard to believe that he was looking at the princess of Hibernia and the woman who had earned his trust, respect and affection. She looked so innocent, as though she were one of the maidens in the Romans' employ. Tristan was well aware that she was still the energetic and kind -though snappy at times- girl he had first met.

He remained observing her until she realized his presence. Her eyes lit up when she smiled. "What happened to the 'at dusk at the forum'?" Isolde inquired before focusing back on the apples. Tristan neared her, hands behind his back.

"That still stands," he told her. "I was just passing by and I saw you."

"I can imagine," Isolde remarked with a light laugh. Tristan leaned against the tree, arms folded over his chest. He could see the tiredness on Isolde's features, the remnants of shock in her eyes, and yet she had said nothing about it. From the moment he'd been reunited with her, Tristan had heard no complaint from Isolde; in fact, she had set out to help in whatever way she could. Tristan had assumed it was a way of getting her mind off the Woad attack, but no: it had been due to her willingness to cooperate, her innate kindness. He had never been one to laud a woman's beauty or any other quality she possessed, but Tristan would praise Isolde any time.

If only he could find the words to do so.

He didn't know how long they stayed in silence, each of them engrossed in their own thoughts. He sat by the foot of the tree, closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze on his face. It reminded him of the positive side of last night's dream, the one that had spoken of freedom and peace. His reminiscing didn't last long; Tristan was distracted by a rustle of cloth next to him. Isolde was by his side, her gaze staring at the distance. "Tristan, what bothers you? You can tell me, you know, even if the cause of your unease is me."

Smart woman.

Tristan evenly met Isolde's gaze, in which he found nothing but amusement. "You think I didn't have my suspicions? We have been apart a long time, but that doesn't mean I have forgotten of your duties as a knight, one them being leaving aside anything that might distract you in battle. You've hardened yourself with time and every battle you've fought; I couldn't expect you to just welcome me with a grin on your face, could I? That would be selfish, and you'd agree with me."

And an observant one at that, too.

Tristan nodded in agreement. There was no need to say anything; every word of hers was true. Isolde smiled at his humility.

"And you don't mind?" inquired Tristan, to which Isolde shook her head. "So simple."

"Would you have preferred me to yell at you like some desperate maiden in need of her lover's attention?" inquired Isolde in a suggestive tone. Tristan grimaced inwardly at the question, then watched in amusement as Isolde's face contorted in the same disgusted grimace he had suppressed. "I myself shiver when thinking about it. I wouldn't want to cause you that sort of trouble; you have enough as it is."

Tristan smirked. "With you around, for certain."

Isolde shoved him, her eyes ablaze with annoyance. Tristan shook it off, unfazed, but then Isolde shoved him once more, this time with more strength, yet to no avail; Tristan remained in his place. His smirk widened into a self-satisfied smile with which he taunted Isolde to try again.

"Forget it," she bit back. "You just won't move."

Calm and solemn, every trace of frustration gone, Isolde closed her eyes and rested her head against the tree, a sigh leaving her lips. Not wanting to disturb the silence, Tristan averted his gaze to the ground and waited. He was startled when something soft -Isolde's fingers- brushed his cheekbone right over his tattoo. There was affection in her eyes and a smile playing around her thin lips. He reveled in the sight of her face; pale and delicate, yet young and lively. He lightly stroked her cheek in turn, feeling her warmth under his fingertips.

Isolde finally smiled. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Either Tristan was taking it the wrong way or Isolde's gesture had been nothing more than a test to measure his reaction; either way, Tristan hated such tests, especially if they came from women. And Isolde was _still_ a woman. He harshly turned his eyes away from her, a frown on his features. "You still have to tell me why you're here in Britain," he said coldly.

Isolde did not respond immediately. When she did, contrary to what he had expected, Isolde spoke with her usual bright tone. "When I returned to Hibernia, I found that many things had changed; I can't explain how, but it was all different. During the months I had been here in Britain, instability had befallen my mother's reign for reasons that are still unknown to me, curiously enough; politics weren't my concern, after all," she said, chuckling bitterly at the end. "What my mother did tell me was that she feared a conspiracy against her and that I would be the instrument of the conspirators. She wanted no such misfortune for me so to protect me, she sent me away. On the eve of my twenty-first birth day, I was aboard a merchant ship destined for Briton port, sailing away from home."

_Typical, _thought Tristan, _you have to let those close to you go for fear of their safety. It's always the same..._

A pained sigh escaped Isolde's lips. "It's been the most difficult decision I've ever had to make, leaving my mother, but she wouldn't want me to stay and I knew what had to be done. Upon arrival to Britain, I found employment at a local tavern in the port, then found my chance to move to the village that was attacked this morning. I've been here for one entire year."

"You did what you had to do, Isolde," Tristan offered when he spied tears welling up in her eyes.

"I know, but I can't help but long to return to my home," she said, then flashed him a sad smile. "I suppose we're the same now, you and I. How long until your contract is over?"

"Two more years."

"You'll return, I'm sure," Isolde said encouragingly as she stood picking up the apple basket. They decided to head back inside the fort for the moment. Halfway there, Isolde spoke up. "Sorry if I upset you before; I... I didn't mean to hurt you in any way."

Tristan allowed silence to fall between them, leaving it to sort things out. He harbored no hard feelings toward her so if she was as observant as she showed herself to be, Isolde would understand that there was nothing to be forgiven. That seemed to happen, because Isolde soon took his hand as a genuine gesture of appreciation. Tristan remained silent but held Isolde's hand tightly.

The past had come back, and it was its intention to stay.


End file.
